Children of the BlueEyed God
by Gweniveve Skyes
Summary: He had been born as a god, died as a mortal, but was born again. . . Inspired by KoK's drabble.


Children of the Blue-Eyed God

** I blame KoK for this one *points finger*. She had written a drabble and as I was reading, my plot tribbles went into warp drive and barraged me with ideas. So, with her benevolent permission, I was allowed to expand upon the subject.**

He had been born a god.

Or, that was at least what his mother told him, as she crooned the songs of his fathers and his father's fathers, as he laid slumbering. He lived in the World Beyond the Veil, where the beasts roamed and where he, Reyor'az, son of Ar'zael, dwelled.

He lived for thousands of years, living in the dreams of his ancestors, dwelling in the essence of their memories, learning from them, lapping them up.

But when he was awake, he longed to make his own dreams, going beyond the Veil, where the mortals, the "man" from his dreams, built their stone cities and weaved magic birthed from their own life essence. So, when he was old enough, he pushed past the Veil, like a child hatching from an egg, and became part of the world of the mortals, the Blue-Eyed god of their dreams.

And oh how he was worshiped! The men, in their nine-ringed city of "Atlantis"-why they picked such a name, he didn't know- revered him as their equal, if not their superior, their blue-eyed lord. They offered him gifts of food and treasures, anything he could ever wish for. They even offered him their own lives, if only to gain the tiniest modicum of his soul-magic, born from his ancestors' dreams. And as if he would; nobody would have his ancestors' dream-magic.

One of the mortals though, did not fear him and it struck him as odd, for they all feared him. The puny mortal, known as Critias, saw him as an equal, not a god, which angered him.

And yet, it pleased Reyor'az. He had never had an equal.

But then, the nine-ringed city sunk to the ocean and Critias's human, mortal shell, passed on into the afterlife, with only the shell of a dragon to tell of his existence. He hated it, for Critias wasn't born as a god, but as mortal and no man should have that.

So he fled back to the Land Beyond the Veil and slumbered, submerging himself back into the dream-magic, angered at himself for living this place of safety and magic. How long he had slumbered, he didn't know, but he did and he lost himself within the flow of magic and time, cocooning him in a web conjured by his ancestors.

Thousands of years passed and he still slumbered, growing ever larger and stronger. He only woke when he was hungry, then going back into his slumber when he was sated. They feared him now, the residents of the World Beyond the Veil. They called him the Blue-Eyed god, of white scales and magic seeping into his essence. He was the god his mother sung to him, the lord of the Land Beyond the Veil.

But then, a dragon came to challenge him. One with scales of ebony and eyes of the fiery hearts of flames. She had grown weary of his presence and wished to see him gone. She woke him from his slumber, shattering the cocoon of dream magic he had woven himself into.

So he awoke, angered at this impudence, and struck out at her. They fought, the force of their bodies colliding shaking the very barrier of the World Beyond the Veil. The dragon of ebony sunk her fangs into the pearlescent white scales, breaking them and drawing them.

He had been wounded for the very first time in the thousands of years of existence. His roar rent the very sky in half. He struck back, but she wounded him again, and again.

Finally, he struck her down, putting her back into her place, but at a cost and oh, what a cost it was!

He was pushed through the Veil, crashing into the land of man, the world he once shunned for its primitiveness.

The world had indeed changed during his slumber. The nine ringed city was gone now, replaced by cities of stone and wood, in the land of the deserts. He looked upon them with disdain, for they could not compare to the city of Nine Rings. He could easily destroy it with one mighty blast, if he wanted to. Alas though, he could not, the crimson blood staining his white scales evidence of this.

So, he dragged himself to a cave, just beyond a small village, and started to whisper to words of the dream-magic, hoping to heal himself and go back to the World Beyond the Veil. However, in his slumber, he had forgotten that dream-magic didn't work in the land of the mortals. So, he had to wait and let Time weave his wounds shut.

But he had to eat in the meantime, and move away from the village in case the mortals in the village decided to hunt him down. Their memories still contained the primitive, if irrational fears of monsters and gods, like himself.

He decided to move closer, to prey upon the cattle that milled along the borders of the village. It had been too easy; one look into his blue eyes and they were paralyzed with fear. He had eaten six cattle that first night, and yet he was still not satisfied. If he ate too many, then there would be no food left and he would starve.

And as a god, he did not die.

The villagers though, noticed the missing cattle and went after him, with their puny instruments that would have done no harm to him, but he was wounded and was not nearly as strong as his was with his dream-magic. So he hid from them and they passed, not noticing his presence.

He then realized that night that he had to flee, for they would keep hunting him until he either starved or died at their hands. The next morning, when he thought they were asleep, he flew, his wings laboring under exhaustion.

But they saw him, his white bulk against the lightening sky of sunrise. And they attacked, launching their puny spears and pebbles, ricocheting against his splendid white scales, marred with blood. He laughed at their petty attempts-

-Until something crashed into his wing. They had managed to fling a boulder at him with some spindly-looking device. It shattered his wing and he spiraled towards the ground, struggling to keep aloft. He bellowed in anger. Nobody, nobody, would do such a thing to him and get away with it!

He attacked the village, killing them all, leaving nothing more then molten slag as his lightening breath melted the very stones to the earth.

He crashed to the ground, moaning in agony. There was no way he could fly now, he was dying now, with no dream magic to stitch his wounds together, to set the broken bones back into place. So he heaved himself to the molten and smoldering ruins of the destroyed village and waited to die.

And so the Blue-Eyed god became mortal, the very thing he disdained since birth.

He waited there, for three days and two nights, until something came into his vision, weak as it was. It was a woman, her belly heavily swollen with child. He could sense the child within. Something then came to him. Maybe, maybe she was the key to his survival, weak and wan as it was.

She came close to him, curious at the beast with white scales and azure eyes. She was touching him now, her calloused and rough hands on his muzzle. He wanted to recoil from her touch but he was too weak. She babbled something to him, something soft and gentle by the tone, like his mother had when he was a hatchling those thousands of years ago. A part of him wondered why she was wandering the desert by herself, for even humans weren't that dumb, but yet here she was, touching and caressing him. Maybe something brought her to him, for he could tell that like he, she was dying too, weak and exhausted from her journey. There would be no way for her to survive the birth of her child.

He closed his eyes. Maybe there was a way to save them both, even if it meant ripping his soul from his body, killing them right there and then. He reached deep inside, to find what little of the dream-magic that remained, the songs and dreams of his fathers and their fathers before them-

-and released it.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She wandered to a roaming tribe the next morning, the blood of the dragon on her hands. The dragon had died that night, with her watching the ordeal. She felt something as he died, but dismissed it. Her water broke shortly after and as Reyor'az predicted, died in labor.

Her child, a girl, however, survived, causing a stir among the superstitious tribesmen.

She had been born with pale skin, hair the color of spun silver, and eyes the color of the deepest azure skies. She was then branded as a demon and would have been stoned to death, if it weren't for a priestess of Thoth, with ebony hair and red eyes, who had happened to wander through at that moment. She rescued it and brought it to her temple, where she lived for the rest of her tragically short life.

. . .And so Reyor'az, son of Ar'zael, was born a blue eyed god, died as a mortal. . .

. . .But lived on as a spirit. . .

**Ta-dah! That was actually a fun piece to write, methinks. Maybe I'll do more along these lines. The writing was experimental though, so I may or may not stick with it.**

**And did you catch all the Easter eggs in there ? Read closer and I'm sure you'll find them ;)**


End file.
